


Dawn From Dusk

by Salmon_Pink



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Community: ladiesbingo, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the night after, and Trish is by her side. She always has been: by Jessica's side, <i>on</i> Jessica's side. And Jessica can't hold Trish at arm's length any more; she's too tired to pretend she doesn't want what she wants. Especially when she knows Trish wants it too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn From Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for _Jessica Jones_. Set during Season One's _AKA Smile_. Written for [Ladies Bingo](http://ladiesbingo.dreamwidth.org/), prompt "sunrise/sunset".

Jessica watches the sunset from Trish’s balcony, the sky turning from a murky, weak grey to a murky, weak orange, shadows from tall buildings creeping close. It’s cold as hell outside and Jessica feels exposed, edgy, too much space around her.

Kilgrave’s gone. But the fear and anger and hurt, that isn’t going to disappear in a day. That isn’t going to disappear for a long ass time, Jessica’s sure of that.

Trish brings her a cup of coffee, standing beside Jessica in silence, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. A part of Jessica just wants to be back in her own bed, but she knows her apartment is trashed and she doesn’t really want to deal with it. Being here, being with Trish, it’s fine. Better than fine. Probably what she needs, although Jessica’s gotten good at refusing to acknowledge what might be best for her.

But it’s also probably what _Trish_ needs, so yeah, better than fine.

They stopped on the way back from the police station to pick up shitty fast food, and Jessica keeps thinking about Hope, about promising her that meal that never happened. 

“It’s freezing,” Trish says quietly. It’d be bullshit small-talk from anyone else, but things are different with Trish. Comfortable, easy, or as easy as anything gets in Jessica’s life.

She lets Trish steer her back inside, the last glimpses of sunlight disappearing behind a horizon jagged with skyscrapers.

*

“I keep having to remind myself it’s over,” Trish murmurs. The blanket is draped across both their shoulders, their arms pressed together, both sunk low in the couch with their feet on Trish’s coffee table. 

Jessica just nods. She can still feel the crack of Kilgrave’s bones under her hands, the wave of nausea and pure _relief_.

“I just want the taste of him out of my mouth,” Trish whispers, and Jessica’s stomach lurches, guilty and mad at herself for it.

“Brush your teeth,” she says blankly, but she can feel Trish’s gaze on her, and she knows what Trish wants.

It’s too soon. It’s too much. It’s only been twenty four hours since she killed the bastard, and her mind is still a mess.

But she _wants_ it. She wants what Trish is carefully not asking for. They haven’t touched each other, not like that, since before Kilgrave walked into Jessica’s life. 

It was easier, that way, keeping Trish at arm’s length. Just a friend, nothing more, because if Jessica didn’t care about anything then nobody could use other people against her.

It’s too soon, but Jessica wants it, and so does Trish, and she groans against Jessica’s mouth when she kisses her. It’s supposed to be soft and slow, but somehow it winds up being hard and fast and so damn _desperate_ , and Trish clings to her like she’ll never let go again.

*

They fuck on the floor of Trish’s bedroom, Jessica leaning back against the bed frame, Trish spread across her lap, because that one step further it would have taken them to get _on_ the bed was longer than they could wait. 

Jessica gets three fingers inside Trish, and watches the way Trish rides her, the buck of her hips. Trish’s shirt had shredded under Jessica’s hands, and she feels like she can’t breathe, gasping and staring unblinkingly as Trish cries out above her. 

Afterwards, Trish pushes Jessica on to her back, spins around and straddles her face backwards. Jessica eats her out, lets the familiar taste of sex, of _Trish_ , overwhelm her. Trish braces one hand against Jessica’s stomach, leans forward until she can press her fingers between Jessica’s legs, until she can press her mouth there too, sucking on Jessica’s clit.

Jessica’s eyes are damp when she comes; she angrily wipes the back of her arm across them. Trish sees, but she curls up beside Jessica on the floor and doesn’t say a word, waiting patiently until the air in Jessica’s lungs starts to feel real.

“I missed you,” Trish says eventually.

Jessica’s eyes fall shut. Trish feels warm and right beside her. “Yeah,” is all she can manage. 

*

“He wasn’t like that at first,” Trish sighs. They’ve made it to the bed, sharing leftover French fries, a mostly empty bottle of whiskey on Jessica’s lap and the pillows shoved against the headboard.

Jessica shrugs. “Yeah, well, maybe it was roid-rage, maybe those pills just released Simpson’s inner asshole. Either way, he’s gone now.” Trish makes a thoughtful noise around her mouthful of greasy, cheap food, and Jessica smirks at her. “Can’t believe you slept with him.”

Trish snorts, and throws a fry at Jessica’s head. 

“Hard to believe he could keep up with you,” Jessica teases, “when you’re such a hellcat in bed.”

Trish’s grin gets sharper, more wicked.

The fries end up everywhere, Trish fucking Jessica as hard as she likes, because Jessica can take it, can take everything Trish can give. There’s sweat on Trish’s skin; it gleams in the hollow of her collarbone. Jessica feels herself clench down around Trish’s fingers, the air around them filled with breathy little noises she can’t quite hold back. 

Trish tastes like fast food when they kiss, and Jessica feels drunk in a way booze just can’t manage.

*

The sky brightens slowly, and Jessica has Trish pinned on the bed, rubbing her thigh against Trish’s cunt. She moves slowly, lazily, but the way Trish looks at her is intense and demanding. Trish’s eyes are bright, and Jessica has to bury her face in Trish’s neck because she can’t look anymore.

There’s something in her chest, something warm where there’s only been a carved-out hole for far too long.

They’ve spent the last hour talking quietly about stupid memories, bad outfits and worse movies, their first adventures when they moved to the city. Jessica’s throat feels tight and raw, but it’s not from the talking or the tiredness, it’s from a lump she can’t swallow, something trying to bubble out of her that she’s spent too long keeping tied up and locked down.

The inside of Jessica’s thighs are sticky with sex, and Trish is biting back all her moans, like she doesn’t want to disturb the peace around them, or like she doesn’t want to drown out the laboured sound of Jessica’s breathing.

Jessica hasn’t said those three words since the dock, but she mouths them against Trish’s shoulder, lips burning them into Trish’s skin and her own mind.

“Me too,” Trish promises.

Outside the sun rises, a new morning, a fresh start.


End file.
